


Paradox Loop

by LizBee



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-22
Updated: 2008-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 14:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizBee/pseuds/LizBee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's seen her since his childhood, but he doesn't know her name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradox Loop

He was running, the first time he saw her. 

His hearts were pounding, limbs flying as he fled his tutors and the Untempered Schism and the awful, endless nothingness behind him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure on a hillside, a woman with long, dark hair.  She was watching him. 

For a second, their eyes met.  She smiled at him, the wind whipping her hair across her face.  He thought she was about to laugh.

Then he stumbled and fell, and when he looked again, she was gone.

*

Koschei said it was an hallucination.  After a while, he started to believe it, and the years passed, and he forgot about her all together.

Until he saw her again.

*

He was sixty years old.  The universe, which had seemed impossibly vast and cold when he was a child had contracted, becoming a world of books, classes, deadlines.  Boredom mingled with pressure, until he thought he might explode.

It was the middle of the night, and he was still in the library.  Footsteps approached behind him -- Ushas, he thought -- but then he looked up, and realised.

"How odd," he said.  "I was quite sure you were a figment of my imagination." 

She smiled, sitting in the chair beside his.

"Maybe you've gone mad," she said.  Her voice was low, her pronunciation precise.  "When I was sixty, I thought it would be marvelous to go insane.  Well, it would have broken the monotony, anyway."

He reached out and took her hand.

"See?" he said, "you're perfectly real."

She blinked, staring at their linked hands.  "I'm sorry," she said, suddenly sad, "I'm too early -- I shouldn't have come -- this is too soon."  She pulled away, standing up.  "You'll see me again.  Not soon.  One day."

He felt as lost as a callow twenty-year-old.  "I don't even know your name," he said.

She smiled.  "I don't know yours, either."  With one smooth motion, she leaned down and kissed him on the lips.  For a second, he was too stunned to respond -- _in the library -- people will see --_ then her tongue flicked against his lips, and he relaxed and kissed her back.

Then she was gone, as quickly as she'd appeared.

*

At first he scanned the faces of everyone he saw, but she never appeared.  Eventually, he stopped looking. 

When she did appear again, it was another time, another planet, and they were alone.

Once, Gallifrey had possessed an empire.  Now it had a couple of crumbling monuments on dead planets, and he had been given the task of testing the remaining structures for lingering traces of temporal radiation.  He was two hundred and four years old, too young (some said) for this responsibility.  Certainly, he was young enough to jump at the opportunity to leave Gallifrey -- to stand alone on an alien world -- leaving behind Koschei's endless politics and Ushas's science, and his own growing responsibilities--

It was peaceful here.  He was the only living person on this planet, and the silence was magnificent.

It was broken by the sound of a TARDIS.  He dropped his tools and straightened, but the newcomer wasn't one of his colleagues, or Koschei.  It was a wheezy Type 40 TARDIS, improbably shaped like a blue box.

The door opened.

"I told you," she said, and there was a reckless gleam in her eyes, "didn't I tell you I'd see you again?"

But his attention was caught by something else: the Sash of Rassilon, thrown carelessly over her informal black gown.

"You're full of surprises," he said, "my Lady President."

*

"I shouldn't be here," she said.  They were sitting on the grass, looking down at the waves pounding the shore of the distant beach.  "It's entirely self-indulgent, but -- well, all I have is time."

For the first time, he noticed that her fingernails were cracked and broken, and her dress was worn, almost threadbare in places. 

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?"

Her smile held no joy.  "You'll see."

She lay back, tilting her face up to the sunlight. Her hand slipped into his, where it felt quite natural.

"I'm getting married in a year," he said.

"Yes, I know."

"She's an Arcalian.  Very clever -- rather traditional.  I like her."

"Good."

"I thought -- or hoped -- that I'd know her when I saw her.  That she'd be you."

She opened her eyes.  "Were you disappointed?" she asked.

"It was irrational."

"That never stopped you -- I mean," she paused.  "Take your times and chances as they come," she said at last, "if that's not too trite -- I'm the last person who should be giving inspirational speeches -- what are you--?"

This time, it was she who was surprised by a kiss, although she responded at once, raising herself on her elbows to meet his mouth.

"I'm taking my chances," he said, his hands on her hips.   "Is that what you meant?"

"Not precisely," she shrugged off the Sash of Rassilon and threw it carelesly aside, "but I've no complaints."

She moved to straddle his lap, kissing his lips while her hands explored the back of his neck.  For a second, her mind touched his, and in the fleeting moments before she sealed herself off, he realised she'd done this before, with him, an older him -- he was exploring, while she merely refamiliarised herself with what she already knew. 

"When?" he asked, whispering it in her ear as he left a leisurely trail of kisses down the side of her neck and along her collarbone, while he fondled a nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.

"You know I can't tell you," she said.  "Yes, that's quite -- no, a little harder, please--"

She made no protest as he pushed her back to the ground, pulling her dress aside to bare a breast.

"The laws of time travel," he said, reaching between her legs, "are quite explicit--"

"I don't give a damn about the laws," she snapped.  She was wet, and he pushed her skirt up, slipping his fingers inside.

"You sound like Koschei," he said, amused.  She gave him a cold look and sat up, reaching for his hand.  For a second he thought she was going to walk away, but instead she brought his fingers to her lips, licking her juices as his own arousal became unbearable.

"Please," he said.

She kissed him, and she tasted like sex.  He was almost quivering with need as she undressed him.  The cool air raised goosebumps on his suddenly-bare skin, but he was warm where she touched him.  He pulled her into his lap, entering her without gentleness, but she was smiling, her gaze distant as she moved against him.

"There's a world," she said, "where the night sky is so bright with stars and moons that there's no need for artificial light -- and the air is warm and smells of saltwater and alien plants -- you'll take me there one day -- you'll tell ridiculous jokes and I'll refuse to laugh, because that would only encourage you--"  She shifted, wrapping her legs around his waist, her hands tangling in his hair.  "Oh," she moaned, and whatever else she was going to say was lost.

He pulled her tight against him as he reached climax, closing his eyes as words and conscious thought were replaced by pleasure.

Afterwards, he explored her body with light, teasing strokes, from her small breasts to her soft belly, to the musky wetness between her legs.  She was unself-conscious and willing, taking her pleasure with eyes open, and her fingernails broke his skin as she succumbed.

They slept a little as the suns set, but he couldn't rest for long.  He stayed still as he woke, feeling her curled against him.  Her hearts-beat increased as she dreamed; whatever she had left behind to be with him, he didn't think it was pleasant.  It occurred to him that she was defenceless; now was the time to explore her mind.  Koschei or Ushas wouldn't have hesitated -- maybe he was as slow as his tutors had always insinuated -- but he remained still, and left her to her sleep.

*

"What am I to you?"

The first sun was rising as he finally gave voice to the question that had been on his mind for hours.

She looked away.

"I must mean something to you," he added, "else you -- a president of Gallifrey -- wouldn't risk your office to be with me."

She was reaching for her clothes, pulling her dress over her head and raking her hair out of her eyes.  He picked up the Sash of Rassilon, letting the fabric and micro-circuitry slip through his fingers as he put it over her head.

"I love you," she said at last.  "I love you, and you're dead.  There's a war -- you died right in front of my eyes, it was the last thing I saw before I regenerated.  And without you," her voice cracked, "the rest of Gallifrey -- the universe -- might as well give up.  That's what you are to me, Doctor.  A last hope."

She kissed him one more time, then walked away, back to her TARDIS.  She closed the door without looking back.

He closed his eyes as she dematerialised.

*

This time, he made a conscious effort to forget her.  Not even the Celestial Intervention Agency -- he asked Koschei to make discreet inquiries on his behalf -- had any knowledge of a TARDIS on that dead world.  And he didn't care to share the reasons for his questions, not even with his oldest friend.  Marriage was satisfying; fatherhood more so.  He pushed the memories to the back of his mind and concentrated on the moments at hand. 

Perhaps he should have known it wouldn't last.

He of all people should have been aware that a son might not live up to his father's expectations -- how often had his own genetic progenitors threatened to disown him?  But his crimes had been sins of omission: duties ignored, ambitions left unfulfilled.  He had known when to stop, or thought he did.

Exile.  Renegade.  The words were bitter on this tongue, and they had spread around the Citadel attached to other rumours, of crimes against the laws of time, tainted gene banks, eccentricity runs in the family, you know, they say the father ran screaming from the Untempered Schism--

"Can't you stop them?" he asked Koschei.

His old friend smiled.  "Certainly," he said.  "What would you like the people of Gallifrey to think about instead?"

And, of course, he had no answer.

It was Koschei who brought the news of his son's death -- an ignominous end for such a promising Time Lord, a war on some class five planet, a meaningless end in a muddy, disease-ridden field.

There was, Koschei said, no possibility of regeneration.

"Of course not," his wife said later, "it was a CIA assassination, anyone could see that."

He hadn't seen that, and she knew it, and she was long gone before he could admit she was right, and Koschei, too, was gone before he could say a word.

He was almost four hundred years old, and though once the universe had seemed unbearably terrifying, nowadays it was nothing compared to the oppression of Gallifrey.

He wasn't surprised when he saw her again.

*

This time, she appeared in his House, looking as awkard as a suitor come to call on a freshly graduated Time Lord.  She perched on the edge of a couch, smoothing her dress over her knees.  She'd left the Sash of Rassilon behind, this time. 

"It's strange," she said, "but having arrived at my destination, I find myself quite -- lost."

"You look well," he said, pointlessly.

"You look older."

"I feel older," he said.  "Did you -- do you know about my son?"

"I've read the archives.  You ... never tell me anything."  Her gaze was caught by something behind him.  The Doctor followed her gaze.

"Ah," he said.  "My granddaughter, Susan."  He held out his hand, urging the child forward.  "She'll go away to the Academy next year--"  To stare into the Schism, poor child, letting all of reality open before her -- if only there was another way -- if only he had the courage--

She greeted Susan with all the solemnity of a minor bureaucrat meeting a member of the Supreme Council.  "What an unusual name," she said.

"It's Human," the Doctor said, "from Sol 3, that is -- my son was -- very interested--"

"I see."

"Her mother is -- well, there was a scandal."

"A Time Lord's greatest fear," she said, with all the sourness he felt.

"Precisely." 

She stood up, moving to the window to look out over the Citadel.  "It's so peaceful," she said, "stagnant, of course -- dying, in fact.  But at least it's a slow death.  I'm afraid I could never be quite sure -- have you made the decision to leave yet?"

He froze, clinging to Susan's hand as if he were the child.

"I--"

"Or have I just put the idea in your head, tangling my paradox further?"

"No," he said, slowly, "only -- to say it out loud--"

"It's quite liberating," she agreed. 

He released Susan's hand.  "Go back to your books, child," he ordered, and although she plainly wanted to stay, she was accustomed to obey.  When she was out of earshot, he joined the President at the window.  "You haven't come back to make me stay," he said.

"Of course not.  History would tear itself apart."

"Then what--"

She turned to face him.  "The President of Gallifrey has access to certain ancient tools -- weapons, if you like," she said, speaking in a low, urgent voice, "in any era, the vaults will recognise the Presidential Imprimatur.  When you leave, I want you to take the Hand of Omega."

He laughed in her face.

"And do what with it?" he demanded.  "You're utterly mad -- it's beyond reason--"

She raised her hand, showing him the ring she wore, with the Seal of Rassilon engraved into the metal.  "I am a President of Gallifrey," she said, "the last President, if we cannot -- if you don't -- please, Doctor, you've seen me since you were a child, if you can't trust me--"

"What do you want me to do with the Hand?" he asked, seriously this time.

"Just -- put it in a safe place," she said, "and let it sit until you need it."  She took his hands in hers.  "That's all I can tell you now."

When he was a child, she'd seemed terribly old, but now he realised she was no more than a few centuries his senior in relative years.  Terribly young to be the ruler of all Gallifrey, burdened with the guardianship of a civilisation in a time of war.

"We'll meet again," he said thoughtfully, "in my relative future, your past."

"Yes," she said.

"Will I know you?"

"I don't think so," she said.  "I was so young when we met -- and you'll never see this face.  Either you live and I don't regenerate, or you'll die before I've changed." 

He cupped her face in his hands.  "I still don't know your name," he said.

"Doctor..."

He kissed her, slowly.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Why," he kissed her again, putting his hand on her hip to draw her closer, "I'm taking my chances, just as you're going to tell me to do."

"My paradox," she whispered, "grows more tangled by the minute."

But she didn't pull away, and made no protest when he took her hand to lead her to his bedroom.  He closed the heavy doors behind them, and went to draw the curtains.

"Stop," she said.  He turned; she was kneeling on his bed, face turned up to the suns.  "It's not like this anymore," she said, closing her eyes, "I'd forgotten how beautiful Gallifrey could be."  She slipped off her shoes and pulled her dress over her head.  She was naked beneath, pushing her hair out of her face and reaching for him.

This was, he realised, her first time with him -- with this first incarnation, he corrected himself -- this was not what time travel had been created for -- he knelt behind her and kissed her neck and ears while his hands stroked her nipples and belly and the curve of her waist, until she made a strangled noise and guided his hand between her legs.  He shifted, entering her slowly and let the rhythm of his thrusts match that of his fingers against her clitoris.  The orange light of Gallifrey's suns cast tan and gold shadows over his bedroom, over their skin. 

They moved when the light became blinding, separating long enough to rearrange themselves, she on her back, hands braced against the bedhead.  He kissed her hard, letting his teeth brush against her lips with increasing force, until her mouth was swollen.  He was suddenly unaccountably melancholy.  The last time he'd done this, he'd been with his wife, and there had been some measure of hope in his world. 

"Do you have children?" he asked, pushing her firmly against the mattress.

"What a time to ask," she said.  "No.  Not any more."

"Don't.  The disappointment -- don't have children."  He was close -- so close -- he withdrew, releasing his spendings over her stomach with a cry.  His cheeks were wet, he realised; she was sitting up to wipe his tears away, and for a second, he wanted nothing more than to bury himself in her arms and let the world -- all the worlds -- fall apart.

But only for a second.  He had responsibilities -- Susan needed him -- the one duty from which he could never walk away.  He relaxed, slowly, calming himself, letting the storm pass.  She was pulling the blankets around them, creating a cocoon of safety.  A temporary illusion, to be sure, but all they could afford.

"A year," he told her, "give me a year -- we'll leave Gallifrey before she goes to the Academy.  I won't let them take my granddaughter."

*

A year of plans and preparations, and endlessly smiling as he maintained his facade. 

For once in his life, the time seemed to fly.

When he saw her again, she was clad in the full presidential regalia, looking faintly absurd. 

"Susan?" she asked.

"Waiting in the TARDIS," he said, "it's an old one -- in for repairs, I'm afraid, and quite archaic, but it will do, it will do."

He let her lead him into the vaults beneath the Panopticon.  There were no guards, no security systems but the archaic technology that dated back to Rassilon's age.  She held his hand as they made their way through the darkness.  They did not speak.

The Hand of Omega was kept in a chamber in the very centre of the vaults.  It hummed with energy; he had the impression it was almost waiting for them.

"Now," she said, pressing her hand against its case, "place your hand here," he did so, and there was a wave of heat beneath his palm.  "Now it will obey you," she said, "and no one else, unless you say."

They left as quickly as they had come, and the weapon followed in their wake.

"Can you come with us?" he asked as they approached the TARDIS.

For a few moments, she looked tempted, then she shook her head.

"I still have work to do," she said, kissing him swiftly.  "You'll see me one more time, I hope."

*

It was less than a decade -- a decade in which he felt he'd lived more than in the nearly four hundred years that preceded it.  So many worlds, people, creatures -- he left Susan behind, to make a new life on a ravaged Earth, and took Barbara and Ian away to a peaceful, empty world.

She was waiting for him.

She sat in the doorway of the TARDIS that he now recognised as his own -- claimed, he guessed, in the wake of his death.  She was wearing black again, and looked paler, older than he remembered.  She stood as he approached, and greeted him with a kiss.

"Skaro," she said without preamble.  "If you use the Hand to destroy Skaro, you'll weaken the Dalek forces just enough -- the war is inevitable, but the Matrix places high probability on your survival." 

He held her tightly, thinking about what she asked.

"You want me to destroy an entire world," he said. 

"You've seen the Daleks."  She pulled away, but didn't let go of his hand.  "You'll know when the time comes -- you'll know.  I trust you."

"I must ask," he said, "are you doing this to save Gallifrey -- or me?"

She smiled.  There were tears in her eyes.  "I don't have the luxury of acting on personal impulse."

"Then--"

"But I love you."  She looked defiant.  "The timeline that created me will cease to exist, but I've entered a stable loop -- you might say it's my last act as this incarnation of myself.  You'll live, and I'll ... exist.  Forever cycling through your early life."

"Will you be aware?"

"Oh, Doctor," she said, "I've done this so many times already."

She kissed him again, not releasing him until they heard Barbara and Ian's voices in the distance.

"I should go," she said.

"Is there--"

"It's a stable loop, Doctor," she said with a touch of impatience.  "I'll exist in the main timeline, with my linear relative life.  Never knowing what might have happened.  And Gallifrey will survive to win the war, and you'll survive -- and that's all I ask, really."

She stepped back, retreating inside her TARDIS, closing the door.

He watched until it was gone, then turned to find Barbara and Ian, and the rest of his lives.

 

end


End file.
